Time is a Crooked Bow
by nemurii
Summary: Arthur tells himself that he loves Ariadne. He has to keep reminding himself. And maybe it is't love after all. Especially not when his heart keeps drawing him back to Eames, atleast for a few moments every now and again.
1. one

**Time is a crooked bow.**

Arthur never felt the days slip by him, but he never felt them start or end either. Nowadays, Arthur never felt most things. He'd crawl with desires on some days, and other days he felt like laying on barbed wire and watching the stars. And he still felt the desires, and he'd try to forget them and let those slip away. And he'd sometimes leave the house that wasn't exactly a house sometimes, and he always knew where to find him.

And it was never Ariadne's fault.

She was the most pleasant, gorgeous, wonderful wife you could have. Arthur didn't know how many years it was anymore, but he still wanted to go back into that dreamworld again. He would sometimes lay in the bed and his fingers would slip themselves in her hair, and he'd imagine himself pulling on it hard, making her shriek, just to hear something again.

But he loved her, somewhere deep in side him, maybe.

Arthur didn't think of that word anymore. He just tried to run away as far as he could in the comfort of his own space. He felt like he was stuck in an empty room. Everyone had that fatal flaw. Ariadne was stuck in a dreamworld, while Arthur was trying to find his. And he knew so much that he didn't love her the way she loved him. And it never crossed his mind at all. He just fell into that complacent little crater he dug himself into.

Ariadne wasn't perfect either. She found the longing she had for Arthur just as strong as the longing she had for Cobb. And she repressed it in her because she didn't want the perfect little lies to end. She fed into them and she'd smile at those few instances Arthur actually called out to her. They weren't what they used to be.

Then Arthur escaped from her. She didn't find it _too_ surprising, but that never meant it didn't feel like an icepick on her heart, frozen-over. And she'd call Cobb in the middle of the night. She knew he'd be awake. Out of anticipation or depression, she never wanted to ask.

And Arthur made it his sole mission to find him. He went to England, and while it was raining in Paris all the time, atleast it rained under the sunlight. So whenever Arthur saw a puddle shining orange and yellow, he'd look into it like it was the manifesto of the everythings hes been through. He didn't understand it, and it was so beautiful he found himself stepping in it, at a weak attempt to destroy something beautiful.

* * *

Eames was scared. He was so scared. He'd sleep every night, as much as an insomniac could sleep, and he'd wake up and be scared to look in the mirror. He didn't know who exactly he was. He could become anyone he wanted to be. He hated himself so fucking much. He'd grip onto the days it rained, because then he'd get the chance to lay and see the fog and watch the drops and hear them and have a reason not to move at all.

Eames wasn't so sure what he did. He found a year go by, and another go by with remorse, and the last one would be the worst, because Arthur married Ariadne and he tried to be happy but instead of smiles falling into place, tears found their way, and they fell so slowly, he'd think.

Eames was a recluse, suddenly. He'd remember his fingers, itching to touch him. And their eyes and breathe would mesh into one, because he'd fallen into him and wouldn't stop staring and his fingers would trail from the tip of him down to his core and then he'd wake up and realize it was a dream.

He'd feel incandescent then. He'd have these dreams on the only nights he could sleep, with a dream in his waking mind. And he'd curse because why would God, whoever the fuck he was, make him sleep to those nightmares?

But he'd be grateful somehow, because even if it was a dream, it was more then he'd ever expect to recieve from him in real life.

And then Arthur found him, watching the fucking rain again. And he'd be smoking a cigarette, never a hit, and he'd have his little cupcake with a candle, and he'd blow it out just as Arthur burst the door open. And Arthur was panting and glaring and he looked as pale as if a truck had hit him. And he walks slowly over to the phone and finds it disconnected.

And Arthur wishes him a happy birthday, and Eames wants his face to hit the floor as hes falling, but instead he finds it nestled into Arthur and they stand there, in a comfortable silence.

Arthur whispers to him that he called him twenty times, and Eames told him he couldn't take it if he had to see the phone plugged in and hear nothing on the other end.

And it was years since they last felt eachother. And it was years, and they felt like they were old men by that time, but they weren't even done with their twenties yet. And they knew, everytime, what they were getting themselves into.

And they'd slip into it together, and they wouldn't care who was married, who was dying, who was in love, nothing crossed their minds anymore. They'd drink and laugh and they would both talk about how depressed they were, and Arthur would blame it all on him, and Eames would smile and agree wholeheartedly. And they'd drink some more and Eames would wish he was a girl, so maybe he could end up as pregnant as Ariadne was. And then Arthur would say he wouldn't want him any other way.

They'd found themselves in a different sort of light. Arthur was more loose, relaxed, maybe it was a bit of the old Eames in him. And Eames was a bit more grown, still his playful and young self, but just slightly more worn. And they found it more sexier. And they found it more beautiful.

And they'd lay in bed naked and they wouldn't care if the whole world found them to be two disgusting humans acting habitually, feeding off the exact perfection that they hated. Because though Arthur and Eames respectively hated themselves, they loved eachother regardless.

And Eames wanted to see Ariadne and Arthur's kid, and he'd wish it was his own, and he'd be jealous that Ariadne had that side of Arthur that Eames couldn't ever have. And Eames would feel his veins boil, and he'd say he would want a smoke, but Ariadne would know. And she'd let him go, and he'd come back two weeks later demanding to see the little girl.

And Eames was slowly fading back. His memories didn't hold him together anymore, and he didn't have much hope. Because he'd realized that no matter how much of himself he gave to Arthur, he'd still never have him completely. Arthur would negate that completely, but they all knew. Arthur would kiss every part of him anyways.

And as soon as it had began, the dalliance had come to an end.

And it would come back together again, because as much as they hated eachother, and hated themselves, and as much as they stopped their own happiness right in its making, they couldn't be without eachother.

And with every kiss they'd feel their deaths approaching them, one minute at a time. But nothing mattered. Eames and Arthur knew, everyone knew.

And when it would snow, Eames couldn't hear the sharp sound of the droplets hitting the floor.

And when it was that blazing sun, he couldn't even leave his apartment.

And then he'd wait for the rain, because he'd feel those fingers reach and give him the cigarette he'd wait for. And then the kisses came, and the passion would flood back, and the laughter and the smiles would be real for those few months. And they'd seperate and come back, and they'd leave eachother, but come back; it was almost as if their hearts were connected by a small string, that string that had seen every part of their relationship. It'd pull on them with desire, it'd thin with pain and tears, and it'd still hold up.

And then sometimes they'd feel nothing at all, nothing at all. But they couldn't, _wouldn't_ ever let it go.

* * *

I don't know what to think of this exactly. I enjoyed it, I like writing these bittersweet stories. This was a rushed project, I guess. I was heavily influenced by the song, "Armchairs," by Andrew Bird. That's also where I got the title of this. If there are any errors/things misunderstood, honest reviews are accepted. Thank you anyone and everyone.

If I get enough feedback, I'll expand on this because I started thinking; so how does Ariadne feel? And does Arthur still love Ariadne? And does Eames want to keep doing this?

And if I don't get much feedback, I'll probably write more to this anyways, because now I've got myself worked up. (:


	2. two

**Time is a Crooked Bow**

Ariadne knew what it was like to build her own empires. She never thought, no, never in all her years, that she could create and use her imagination to fabricate worlds in her dreams. She'd sigh when she thought about it. Her fingers would tremble when she saw the rain, and she'd shut the windows and wrap herself in the sheets.

She'd sometimes wish Arthur was home. She wished they were a team again.

She'd wish she was that twenty-one year old girl in college with hopes and aspirations, and then she'd hate the rain because a long time ago, Arthur would be in those same sheets with her.

Ariadne would look at her daughter, and she'd remember that she loves Arthur. She loves him. He would call her pretty and he'd smile, even if it wasn't the big grins she was used to giving, she would find her home in him. Something she was scared to find, at first. And she'd find solace in the summer, because she'd run around in her crop top and shorts and lay in the sand with Arthur, the only thing that made her heart pulse.

Ariadne would have dreams that involved blood and fingernails, and she'd wake up and wash her face and would find herself calling Cobb again because he couldn't deal with it if he'd let someone else slip away. And she felt like she was being pulled through the sand and seaweed, and she couldn't get a grasp of what was the floor anymore. And if Ariadne happened to see Cobb's lingering pale green eyes, as his fingers lay on her wrist feeling her erratic pulse, she wouldn't stop herself when she'd move forward to discover the space between the two.

Ariadne felt her marriage was a sham but she clung onto it desperately, she needed it. She needed stability. She'd tear whenever she ate Raisin Bran because she'd remember how Arthur would wake her up every morning to warn her about her daily intake of fiber. She'd laugh and remember why she loved him all over again. She'd hide her tears from everyone, and whenever she found Cobb she'd fall into him haphazardly, and she'd laugh with him until real tears came.

Ariadne would spend summers on the beach waiting for Arthur, who would come every now and then and again, and sometimes he'd wait a few weeks and blame it on the business, and she'd smile and try to remember why she loved him, and sometimes her mind would be hazy. She'd blame it on the sun and bathe in it until the harsh rain and snow would come and wash away all feelings.

* * *

Arthur didn't know that all it took was one look to paralyze him. They fought alot, mostly because of Eames' insecurities and Arthur's habitual running. Arthur wasn't running from Eames. Eames was his escape, but sometimes he needed to be able to breathe again instead of falling in love again every time Eames kissed his eyes and squeezed his hands.

Eames didn't know what love was. He roamed countless hearts, draining them and tossing them aside. He sometimes found himself bitter and in need of a rich taste on his tongue, but never did he imagine settling down.

And they never did. Eames would hum the song of emptiness, something he knew well. And the rain wouldn't have that same profound effect it did on the days he drew his soul from the earth and the skies and the beauty around him. And he'd tried to weave something new all together to comfort him, but he'd sigh and he'd think how he wasn't the architect. That was Arthur's wife.

Eames would smoke cigarettes and blow them into Arthur's sleeping face and wish he knew what he was dreaming about. And Arthur would wake up coughing, and Eames would giggle and whisper, "Morning love," while Arthur would yell at him about second-hand smoking. Then Eames would wonder what was wrong with himself. And when Arthur was away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, he'd feel his anger and frustration and he'd go out drinking again.

Eames would always be second best.

And the first time he'd ever found someone worth anything, someone who didn't leave him or betray him or use him, someone tangible, someone _human_, he couldn't have him. Eames was worn out. He'd never be first in his eyes.

* * *

Arthur cradled the girl in his arms, avoiding Ariadne for most of the day. She had recieved his unexpected visit and had to rush Cobb out the house and welcome her _husband_, the man she loved, back home. She was losing track of him, and he was losing track of himself. Arthur would look at her, and when they slept in the same bed, they never felt any farther. She still heard the call from those warm summer nights beneath the stars, and he felt the radiance of being with Eames in his balcony, overlooking buildings, hearing pitter patter of rain, and the drift of smoke above his eyes.

And in between them, was a small girl with a huge weight on her tiny shoulders, and a huge smile on her face.

And when she woke up coughing in the middle of the night, tossing and turning, Arthur would remember that one time when Eames woke up, and he felt like he was suffocating, and Arthur put his arms around him, the huge guy he is, and their breath mingled in the tight space as they calmed down in each other's presence.

And when they calmed her down, Arthur would look across and see Ariadne's soft expression, the tangles in her hair splayed out across the bed, and she'd giggle at his own expression,  
and his heart would warm for the moment, and he'd grab her hand and hold it, and sometimes he'd feel like this was supposed to happen, and Eames wouldn't be on his mind so much.

* * *

Eames didn't shave for a month. Eames felt the stubble where it should have been smooth. He had a musky smell and his eyes were glazed over, alcohol the only presence in his life.  
He hadn't heard from Arthur in months. Eames had decided, at the beginning of October, that not everyone was supposed to be with someone else. Not everyone had a soul mate. Maybe some people were supposed to be alone. He was wearing thin, and he was stuck in that empty room again, and there wasn't a day or night, there wasn't those same feelings that had changed him, so long ago.

And he wished Arthur never called him beautiful, because all he felt like now was layers of decaying skin over bones.

He wish he never took his interest in him. He wish he didn't find his polite way of speaking, that American accent, the crinkles near his eyes when he laughed, when he _actually_ laughed, so adorable.  
He wished he never wanted to delve through Arthur's layers, and pick at him like an experiment. And he wish he wasn't so damn interesting, and so damn considerate, and so snarky but sweet, and so calm and peaceful. So beautiful.

He would sometimes feel disgusting, and then he'd realize it was love, that supposed pure honest love, digging a hole in his heart.

Arthur didn't write.

Arthur didn't update him on those random facts that Eames found boring, but listened to anyways.

He didn't worry about him and remind him to eat healthy. He didn't buy those god forsaken Raisin Bran cereal boxes anymore- the bloody things were awful, in Eames' mind. But he never payed any attention to the little things about Arthur. He only saw the big picture.

Maybe Eames didn't cross his mind at all. And Eames wanted to do something, anything. But he found his passive aggressive ways way more aggressive than he would hope to think, and he'd smoke all day, read a bit, drink and socialize and die inside.

* * *

Arthur didn't know what to do. He'd slept with Ariadne a while ago, and since then she couldn't let him leave on another 'business trip'. But he found that he couldn't either. He'd sometimes wish Eames could have caught him, yelled at him, hit him, hated him. Because he deserved it. But they were still pining for eachother, and giving up inside, but still that thin string grasped their small hearts with a undying fire. And Arthur would't stop feeling guilty to both of them.

The only thing he knew, and the only thing he woke up to every morning, was the thought that he was with someone who loved him, and the guy he loved was home alone every day.

And he knew he'd rather stay here then ever face any of it again. And he would feel time stretch and wear and he'd wish he could just be left alone. He felt moral responsibility here, and he tried to make her a replacement. And he knew everything he was doing, but he couldn't help but feel these things necessary. But nothing was necessary anymore, nothing was right.

And when he recieved his first call from Eames in months, he was crying on the other line. And Arthur felt his wretched heart tear into a million and one pieces, and each piece rightfully belonged to Eames. And he booked the night flight to him.

* * *

Eames felt the curse of cigarettes, the only thing that was constant in his life, dirty his lungs. He felt himself loose weight, and he didn't think anything, _anyone,_ could affect him so much. Smiles weren't so endearing anymore, and the light in his eyes had faded to a murky blue. He'd felt like he was standing on the roof of a building, and he wasn't falling, but he was dangling, only having a sense of what hell felt like.

And Eames never stopped loving the bastard. He was his pet, his darling, and he thought this as he felt the bitter taste of nicotine dissolve with that black coffee he had. Nothing was right.

If he could change to anyone he wanted to in his dreams, why couldn't he wake up from a dream as someone else?

Arthur pounded on his door, and again he stood there wet. He didn't smile. His eyes were glued to the shadow in front of him, and Eames found a smile in him, a last one, before he kissed him and dragged him inside. His kisses were decadent, delicate, but demanding. His eyes hollow, his skin smooth, but his heart never changed, and Arthur wanted to say the same for himself, but he wasn't so sure anymore. Yet he knew he loved him despite everything else. It was almost as time had never passed that night, but as strong as their love was, their secrets made them more sickeningly in love.

Arthur felt tears well up inside him, and his chest shake, but Eames smiled and whispered something in his ears, something bitter.

And Arthur never felt more distant from the man he loved in his entire life. And they slept on opposite sides of the bed, that night, but they were still facing each other.

* * *

I know this wasn't as good as the first chapter, but I still like this one. It shows how things are slowly changing, and how Arthur can't expect Eames to love him unconditionally.  
If you enjoyed, reviews/critiques are happily accepted, and I shall continue to develop whatever this is. Let me know if there are any mistakes! Thank you anyone & everyone!

And sorry there was basically no dialogue, but next chapter will be filled with it. I have new ideas rolling in my mind. :D


	3. three

**A/N:** I'm sorry this is so late. I've had midterms and regents to study for, and I know it's an excuse but hopefully you guys enjoy this and the other stories I'm posting up soon.  
-

**Time is a Crooked Bow**

Their eyes were disconnected. Their heartbeats weren't magical, and happiness wasn't an option anymore. Arthur officially moved in with Eames. He made a choice, but it was too late, too bitter and full of guilt and drunken fallacies of 'love'.

Arthur's tears made Eames happy. Arthur, usually unemotional, had broken down and Eames was livid. Arthur hadn't seen his daughter in a month and maybe thats what made Arthur disappear.

Eames timidly approached Arthur, his shoulders shaking, his breath hitching, his face pale and so beautiful that Eames wanted to kiss him and have their cheeks touch and their hands intertwine.

"I'm not her father anymore." Eames felt his emotions shrink and he swallowed and Arthur tackled him in a hug, tears staining Eames' white v-neck.

"She's divorcing me and taking her away from me. Goddamnit." He whispered this into Eames' ear and buried his head in his neck. Eames pulled him in and Arthur was on his lap crying.

"She's not going to take her away, love. You'll see her, she's yours as much as she is hers. Don't loose hope-"

"How the fuck am I going to get her back? She's in the process, she's going to pull her family against me and I'll never see her again-" Eames pushed Arthur away.

"Don't give up. The more you make yourself think these things, the less of a chance you'll have to repair any part of this sitaution." Arthur got up suddenly.

"This is your fault." His voice trembled but grew louder, tears running down his face.

"If I never loved you, if I could just stay away and if only I had been there for Ariadne! If only-" Arthur was stopped by Eames suddenly pressing him against the wall and kissing him harshly.

"If it makes you forget, if it makes you feel better, blame it on me. It's my fault. I ruined your marriage, I took your daughter away, I fucked up your life. It's me, I should have never done these things to you, I took you away from a better life. " Eames collapsed on the bed and sighed.

"Do you want me to feel guilty?" Arthur glared at him, tears lessening.

"No I want you to know I love you, still. I've loved you for years, and sometimes I hate you, and sometimes I want you to go back to Ariadne. But I fucking love you. And your guilt is my fault. Blame it on me. Hate me. Go get your daughter back, go work it out." Eames stared hard at him. It didn't take much to break whatever they had, but Arthur was a father and Eames had ruined enough of his life.

"I love you too, you piece of shit." Arthur's tears wouldn't stop and he crawled back into bed, feeling empty inside. Eames held him, and it would never suffice, but he would never stop hoping.

* * *

_I loved you Ariadne, but I love Eames. I've been stringing you both along, in hopes of never hurting any of you. You mean alot to me and I don't want to break of communication with you,_ _when your such an amazing person. You can hate me and divorce me, but you can't take her away. My only daughter, the only thing drawing me back to reality when all my relationships fail and when everyone realizes how horrible I really am. I don't want the only thing keeping me away from falling into endless dreams to be taken away from me._

_And I don't want her to grow up fatherless, and I know life is difficult and I'm a selfish prick, but I'd do anything to keep her, keep both of us, stable parents for her. I'm breaking at the thought of fucking up her life so I can be happy- I can't deal with it._

* * *

Eames wouldn't stop thinking about it. He broke apart his life and Arthur still loved him. Ariadne pitied him, but she could't bring herself to hate him.

Everyone was so beautiful- he saw it in them, the things they thought were disgusting, were beautiful.

He depended on alcohol and cigarettes and parties to be the escape when Arthur had gone away.

Arthur was the only human connection worth it all. And he didn't deserve him.

Eames had given him his time. But Eames felt his running out.

His life felt like a joke; there was no more room in hell, so he walked the earth.

Arthur was a broken wreck and Ariadne was scared, too scared to think of something to say to Arthur. They would never be a team again. They were hopeful shits supressing their own issues because they wanted to be loved and they needed to be wanted.

Eames didn't want Arthur to love him anymore. He had ruined his life. Eames was suppressing the urge to find his old dealer. He kept going out, even if he knew Arthur was hurting at home alone.  
He wanted to forget that he was who he was.

* * *

Eames didn't come home one night, and Arthur was sitting on the couch, fully awake at four in the morning. He was going through his divorce papers, drinking black coffee.

"Where were you? Who were you with? You can't keep doing this. You're not Eames anymore." Arthur looked more worried then angry. He stood up to see Eames crying.

"Don't fucking worry about it!" He had punched Arthur in the face. and then collapsed on the floor. Arthur took him to the bed and broke down again, second time that same month.

Eames woke up with long dragged out scratches on his back, done only by nails. They stung slightly, but he dulled the pain by kissing Arthur. Arthur didn't kiss back.

"I'm not sure whether to leave you or not. That's on my mind this morning." Eames stared blankly at Arthur.

"We have issues. I have them. You do. Aren't we bloody perfect?" He smiled and Arthur found himself smiling back at him for some reason. Eames looked into Arthur's eyes, and got up and punched the wall. He was shaking and Arthur's fingers drifted to his left eye. He felt the bruise, and he sat up, and looked in the mirror across from the bed. It had grown.

"Fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm a piece of shit. I don't deserve you. This is exactly what I didn't want to happen. This is going nowhere. Why did I-" Eames' hand had stayed in a fist on the wall, but it fell and he turned around he looked at Arthur. He was wounded. He walked past him in silence and looked for his cigarettes. He walked to the balcony and left Arthur by himself.

It was raining and Eames leaned on the railing, smoking a cigarette.

Each hit of each drop didn't suffice, and infinity felt like such a long time. Everything was wearing thin but they were still a part of everything.

Eames didn't want Arthur anymore if that's what it meant.

"C'mon Eames, it was a mistake-" Arthur had no qualms, his semblance of utter perfection had a rip in it, and the more they dragged this on, the larger it became.

"Fuck that shit. I'm a bloody wanker. Do you know what it means when you hurt the one you love? Do you know what it means to be the reason why they are-"

"Yes I know what its like. I'm the perfect example of the aftermath of broken relationships. That's all I've ever had my whole life, Eames." Arthur's eyes darkened.

Eames looked startled. He turned his back to him, his shoulders wet and shaking, and the rain kept hitting his hair but had no meaning anymore. It was just water.

"I'm tired of loving you if it means this is what's gonna happen." Arthur's heart welled up inside, and his emotions were strung out and apparent in Eames' eyes.

"I don't care what happens to me anymore Eames." Arthur could barely whisper. He didn't know what to think about things anymore.

"I can see it all tonight, Arthur." Eames smiled sadly and took a long drag of his cigarette and blew out the smoke from his lungs to the chilled air and watched it disappear.

The smoke would float away and disappear and end up nowhere like Eames. Eames had no hope left and he wanted to blame it on society, or on Arthur or Ariadne.

"You haven't called me darling." He said bitterly. Arthur took the cigarette and smoked it before crying next to Eames, wishing the cars on the highway would just crash already.

* * *

Ariadne brought her daughter with her when she went to see Cobb. She felt her heart expand and twist and become another being entirely, when she saw Cobb for the first time in months.

Her heart was beating _so_ loudly and it wasn't out of excitement. She had collapsed under his all-knowing eyes and he hushed her and took her back to his home.

No one had gotten over their first love. But if it wasn't the love she missed, it was having someone there.

Ariadne hasn't had someone hold her and mean it for months. Long dragged out months that kept moving while she stood in the same spot moving nowhere, the earth revolving and turning and her life wasn't making sense anymore.

"Ariadne we all love you."

"You always say this." She smiled a bit, her girlish charm causing Cobbs heart to reconsider its patterns and rhythms.

Cobb had never taken his eyes off her from the moment they met and now that turmoil was the only constant thing in their lives, he had to step in and try to grasp her beautiful hands and save her.

"Ariadne, I love you." His pale green eyes had never looked so vulnerable and her gaze didn't seem to waver. She wasn't the soft little girl he had found.

"Yeah." She hugged her knees and looked across the room to see all of their kids sleeping together, haphazardly on the couch, little arms draped over little thighs.

"What do you want?" He asked her seriously.

"Everyone has changed but you, Dom." She didn't want to ever answer that question. She feared her own answer would be too great or too small. She didn't want to figure anything out.

"What do you want?" His stare made her stare cease and her heart flutter, her cheeks heaten, and she felt more free then she had felt in such a long time.

"I wanna stay here with you. Your the only person that loves me." She broke down and cried little tears on her cheeks, and she was that five year old girl who lost her mother all over again.

Cobb didn't move to comfort her. Cobb missed Mal but her memory didn't have as much meaning as it did. He watched her cry, and he told her he loved her, and she told him she knew that already.

* * *

Their love burned unsteadily. In through the corners of their eyes flooded light every morning but they didn't want to get up and do things anymore. They wanted to wallow in their self-pity.

Like the wings of a butterfly, they had started off inseperable and painful but together.

They had seperated and in order to move forward they had to work together.

Happiness was a distant future they weren't sure how to reach.

Life wasn't a series of dying wishes and fucked up dreams. They had grown past their troubles because being with eachother was almost as painful as being without.

Arthur wanted to love everyone and Eames couldn't even save himself.

Orange gleams of sunset glared through the windows every night and Eames didn't want his cigarettes to be his escape anymore. Arthur kissed him less and loved him more.

Underneath an imperfect sky, their pupils would dilate and their mouths would gravitate towards eachother. Their hands would shake with comfort and their eyes wouldn't move away.

They were their own ideas of beauty. And through the sex and the tears they knew they hid their sinking failures well.

They were inhuman and sickening and could never be apart.

Nothing hurt and everything was perfect.

Hate was swallowed like a pill and love was shoved down their throats and they didn't want anything else.

Happiness wasn't a goal or destination, it was a pitstop they tried to stop at as often as they could before their car careened into the ditch and death would be just as beautiful as anything else.

* * *

I dont know how this ended up being bitter but still beautiful, at the end. I know this wasn't worth the wait- it's been two weeks or so, but well I've been studying and things get in the way. But I've started four other one-shots that I'm pretty excited about. Thanks for anyone whose enjoyed this, and well wait for the next things I put up. Also, I want to just say that this didn't end up the way it should have but well I can only write when I'm inspired by something that really affected me so my updates will always fluctuate but bear with me.

That's the end to this story, and I liked it but theres always room for improvement. Hate, love, and critiscm is accepted. Sorry for the break, and thank you everyone.


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